Delusional
by the drowsy poet
Summary: Sirius has been quieter recently. He leaves his coat on the hook when he goes out. It's as though, Remus thinks, he's not even there. Not really. Post-Betrayal. RLSB


Sirius has forgotten his jacket.

It is hanging on the hook by the door when Remus spots it, shaking his head in exasperation. It is cold outside. Frost has already begun painting the windows, and the wind is sharp and bites at your cheeks. It's almost Christmas.

Sirius needs his jacket.

The werewolf sighs, and puts on the kettle.

He takes two mugs out of the cupboard: placing them on the surface with practiced ease. He rinses the teapot and fishes a fresh teabag from the tin. Two sugars in the Gryffindor cup, one in the Beatles. It is standard procedure.

Everything is so eerily systematic nowadays. He's not sure if he likes it, but immediately thinks of waking up to Sirius every morning, and chuckles. System isn't so bad.

The kettle boils.

He pours in the scalding water and leans on the side, waiting for it to brew.

Sirius is late.

When the hand on the clock has moved another two hours, and he still isn't back, the waiting man sighs. He pours the now-cold tea down the sink. Sticky remnants of the sugar clump together. It's not like Sirius not to warn him when he won't be home.

Remus sighs again. Maybe he should leave the flat. His head feels funny, and the fresh air will do him wonders. He puts on the coat with the elbow patches and ties a scarf around his neck.

He leaves.

/

"Mrs Bowen?"

The landlady hears his voice from the kitchen, and she smiles. His tone seems cheerier than it has been lately, and she thinks, momentarily, that he might be mending at last.

(She is wrong.)

She pads to the front door in her pink slippers, and calls: _"I'll get it, dear,"_ to her husband in the front room. He has never been the fondest of Remus. She is sure if he were to speak to him it wouldn't do any good to the poor fellow, and anything less than perfect is a danger.

She opens the door.

He is standing on the threshold, agitated and jumpy. She frowns. His voice when he speaks is not one that shows sign of the loss he has just experienced.

She thinks nothing of it. People handle grief in their own, individual ways.

"Hey, Mrs B. How're you doing?"

The air is thick with all unsaid.

"Good morning, dear. I'm doing alright. Hip's still playing up, but I'll manage," she pauses, and runs worried eyes over his skinny frame. "I, uh, I just put the kettle on, actually. Fancy a spot of tea?"

His face falls.

"Oh, I'd love to, Mrs Bowen, but I'm just popping out." He seems genuinely regretful, she is surprised to note.

He begins to speak again.

"Actually, do you mind telling Sirius when he gets in that I've just gone out? Want to go see Harry. James and Lily have been dying for a holiday for god knows _how long_, and I thought I could help out with babysitting."

The woman standing before him feels a lump appear in her throat. It seems like several hours before she can reply coherently.

"...Remus, dear. Are you sure you're...handling? With everything?"

The man frowns.

"I'm, uh... I'm alright, Mrs. B. I guess I'm used to it all now. It's different than at Hogwarts... everyone's so supportive." He stops, then, almost as though it is an afterthought, adds: "'Specially Sirius. Don't know what I'd do without him."

He is smitten, she realises. Smitten and confused and caught in a state of denial so high she is sure it is quite impossible.

And, sick with this realisation, she has another. She realises she doesn't possess - and could never even dream of possessing - the heart to put him right.

"I'll tell him," she stammers, and waves as she watches the broken man depart.

There is an ache in her chest that she can't remember not having.

/

Later, when Remus is still not home, his landlady goes up to their, no,_ his_ flat, and picks up the newspaper that currently lies unread on the mat. He has not even glanced at it.

She breathes a sigh of relief and looks down at the black-and-white face of the man she once thought she knew so well.

The words "mass murderer" and "betrayal" leap off the page. She heaves a dry sob. Tells herself that it was all a lie, that the man with the impossible eyes and the hooting laughter that would boom around the house was a _liar_, a _psychopath,_ fooling her and everyone around him into a dazed oblivion.

But she thinks of the way he used to look at Remus, with a love in his eyes so pure and untainted, and finds that imagining the same eyes hungry with murder is quite impossible.

Remus is better not knowing.

/

Somewhere over a sea, there is a tower, and in that tower, is a man.

The stone is unforgiving beneath his head and the bars are rusty with blood. His hair is matted and his eyes are wild and when the Dementors finally come, for they _will_, they _always will_, the only thoughts he hopes can keep him sane are those of_ Remus_.

He tries to remember the scar above his left eyebrow. The space between his eyelids. Teeth chattering in the winter air and cigarette smoke as they would sit on that wall at that park, weeds entangling their feet and pushing them closer. Fish and chips and late night kisses and books pushed onto the floor.

But the Dementors don't listen. They swap _his_ Remus for a Remus that hates Sirius, one that cries and curses and waits, alone, as he changes into wolf form, a Remus that has no one to help him and so attacks himself in a crazed, blind frenzy. Dementor-addled Remus has fresh scars and hatred in his chest.

They are both so alone.

/

"Sirius? Where have you been?"

Remus enters the room and sees the man sitting on the counter, sipping at a cup of tea. He smiles. Sirius' nose is pink with the outside cold.

"You forgot your coat, stupid," he berates, and kisses him. It feels different than the usual but he doesn't dwell on it. He wants things to stay like _this_.

"Did you see the newspaper, love? I don't think it's been delivered."

Sirius doesn't reply, but Remus is used to that. He's been a lot quieter recently.

/

Below the flat, Mrs Bowen hears a voice. She hears the laughter of a lonely man and muffled conversation, (for it is still that, no matter how one-sided,) and the name "_Sirius_" uttered in an amused exasperation she has come to know so well.

She chokes out a sob.

He mustn't find out.

/

_FIN_

* * *

**A/N: I'm sort of sad about this. It started as fluff, with Sirius being late home and Remus getting all worried and adorably flustered, and then Sirius would come back and there would be kisses and stuff. That would have been fun. But then I remembered that this is fecking _Wolfstar_ and that fecking Wolfstar can never be even _close_ to happy because SIRIUS IS IN AZKABAN... and then I made this.**

**300000000% done.**

**Also this is for the Character Diversity Bootcamp, character is Remus and prompt is "broken."**

**(Reviewing will make JK Rowling write a Marauders book.)**


End file.
